


The world will remember us

by rolex_muncher



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Marvel, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alfred Pennyworth is the Best, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Everyone Has Issues, Gen, Jason Todd Has Issues, Tim Drake Has Issues, Tim Drake-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:15:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23167594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rolex_muncher/pseuds/rolex_muncher
Summary: Tim 'god is dead and so am I' Drake is thrown face first onto a pile of garbage in the Avengers' NYC with only a domino and boxers.Since life happens to be a sadist, the first apartment he breaks into belongs to a potentially friendly neighbourhood Spiderman.It didn’t help much.
Comments: 22
Kudos: 259





	1. Chapter 1

Tim remembered slumping into his case files after a long night, knuckles aching from a recent brawl.

It wasn’t anything noteworthy, just a couple of goons trying their best at a turn of the mill drug trade. He had blacked out after the adrenaline rush subsided, decaf (alfred why) doing nothing to soothe his sleep deprived brain. And so he drooled all over his case files.

Expecting to wake up with paper stubbornly stuck to his face in the comfort of his apartment ,Tim was unprepared for the distinctly non-Gotham air that flowed unhindered into his nostrils. Confused, he sniffed. Where did the putrid scent of Gotham harbour go? It wasn’t Gotham without chemicals and toxins slowly killing you from the inside with every breath.

Not fully conscious before his third cup of caffeine, Tim relegated the inconsistency to his dream-like state, and refused to open his tired eyes. It didn’t feel like much time had passed since he fell asleep in his chair.

He probably didn’t position his neck properly in sleep, as it creaked and cracked and made all sorts of unhealthy sounds.With a long suffering groan,he tried to go back to sleep, but there was something hard stabbing into his lower back and thigh. And it was rough. Like the edge of a table or something.

He groggily opened his eyes. And **_oh —_ **

**_fuck_ ** _fuck fuck he wasn’t in the manor hell he wasn’t even in gotham the sound of traffic and unpolluted air should’ve made it clear the second he woke I don’t have a comm shit no mask no gear- stOp bItcHing tIm, rELaX —_ Tim pressed down on his sidearm and circled the scar on it trying to calm himself while quickly scanning his surroundings for any sign of hostilities as he berated himself for panicking. It was dark, and Tim’s eyes refused to focus until he had caffeine in his system. 

He could vaguely see a dimly lit back alley, vermin keeping him company. He wasn't tied to anything, but couldn't dismiss the chance that this was a kidnapping attempt. Tim honed his senses to search for any sign of other individuals in the vicinity : breathing, foot steps, body scent, etc.

He didn’t have any weapons on hand except for the wooden table behind him and so he lowered into a defensive stance, grip tightening aroung the table leg. He had to remind himself that he didn’t have a domino on, which meant he was the fragile _Timothy_ _Wayne_ , not Red Robin, so nothing more than basic Judo could be used.

The table was wooden and quite fragile. It wouldn’t last long against blades and bullets,but should buy him some time to escape.

But it didn’t matter because he was alone.

Tim felt himself rasp a sigh of relief. At least he wasn’t at the wrong end of a pistol. Without immediate threats, Tim took a good look at himself.He didn’t have much on him. Shivering, he took in the lack of trousers and footwear. 

Tim searched his pockets for a spare domino and found one along with old balled up recites and a piece of old gum. Eugh. Who knows how long those had been there. He had hoped for a pocket knife, but he stuck the mask to his face anyway and scaled the building.

He should be feeling more tense and paranoid but as the panic wore off, he only felt increasingly annoyed at his predicament. He really wants something other than undergarments while stranded in a foreign city.

But first, he needs to figure out _where_ exactly is he.

It was early in the morning, so hopefully people wouldn’t notice some barefooted teen expertly scaling up a building in a hoodie and superboy boxers. He ‘borrowed’ a pair of jeans hanging from a clothesline on his way up. (Skinny jeans, the kind Dick loved as it accentuated his figure *cough* _ass ._ And that alone meant it was a horrible fashion choice.)

Tim died a little more inside when he realised his boxers peeked out of his waist and jeered at him as he spider-monkey climbed the building.

The scraping sound made by tim’s toenail as his bare foot propelled him forward made another piece of his soul dissolve.

It's times like these that make Tim wonder about his life choices. Maybe selling your soul to a bat furry and beating people up in pixie boots wasn't the best extracurricular activity for him.

Grabbing onto the edge of the roof, he lifted himself up and perched on top of the building. At this height,Tim could see the city stretching out beyond him. It was gorgeous at this height. Tim scanned over the skyline and oh-

_New York_

but not quite

There were foreign towers he couldn’t recall, (a glowing STARK in the distance) ,the WE New York branch was missing, and the sky wasn’t nearly as smoggy back home...

_It wasn’t his New York._

If he wasn’t in his New York, then there’s a very good chance he isn’t in his universe. Tim had tried dimension skipping before, but _always_ in gear and with very talkative backup. 

Now, he had resorted to stealing people's shitty jeans.

Tim groaned in frustration, and considered burying his barely healed knuckles into a poor wall which probably didn’t deserve it. 

“Fuck” He expressed like the highly intelligent and sophisticated young man he was, “ **_fuuuck_ **.”

Logic tried to convince him it wasn’t the right time to be whining but Tim didn’t care. The planned course of his life just got stuffed in a shredder was brutally ripped nto unrecognisable strips of suffering because some otherworldly force was being a _BITCH._

Who deserves such dastardly treatment from dear old fate?

Definitely not Tim.

**_But fate is allergic to Tim's happiness_ **so right now, he had to figure out what unholy place was he thrown head-first into.

He’s pretty sure Bruce had taught him something about dimension skipping back in his Robin days (Protocol 86A?) But the exact contents that was supposedly drilled into his brain had faded long ago after several murder attempts by his dear siblings. 

Tim eagle dropped onto the pavement and stared up at the starless sky.

He really needs some caffeine right now.

Or maybe just company.

Hell, he would even condone the Demon’s shitty insults.

But he is alone and confused and helpless and frustrated and just wants to go home..

_If_ he could get home without inter dimensional travel.

He flipped off the roof and made his way back down the building and huh, some poor guy forgot to close the window while leaving their apartment. 

There was a laptop left unguarded in there.

It was beckoning Tim to break in and embrace it with his warmth and intellect.

Tim obliged.

He slipped in and silently scouted the empty room. It belonged to a high schooler around his age. Messy school projects and papers scattered across the ground. (he felt a twinge of shame to say his apartment wasn’t much tidier than this) There were old posters of unfamiliar heroes plastered on the walls. One in particular stood out, the print-out of a man in a red and gold iron suit. Well loved, considering the framing and placement.

He narrowly avoided stepping on a stray essay paper. Curious, he picked it up. The handwriting was illegible. In the corner, ‘peter parker’ was scribbled in pencil.

He put it back on the floor and pushed away a English textbook.

He wandered to the door leading to the living room and pressed his ear against it. Gingerly listening for motion in the other room. Snoring. Consistent. Lucid sleep. Tim locked the door just in case.

After confirming he won’t be interrupted , Tim sat down and accessed the laptop lying around on a desk. Whoever owned this place didn’t even bother to log out. The laptop was warm, presumably recently used, so Tim had to be careful of the owner returning soon. 

The familiar white glow of the screen gave Tim a sense of control as he confirmed his location:

(yes he was indeed in NY)

then he scanned the web for anything concerning the family :

(search: Wayne - no Bruce Wayne nor WE 

search: Batman - urban legends of a human bat,

search: Gotham - a shady conspiracy theory site

search: Justice League-)

When he looked up JL, the‘‘Avengers” instead popped up on the recommendation page. He scrolled through the list of names: most were people who would be expected to choose the hero profession: government agents and such, but there was a actual Norse god _-Thor?-_ on the list, along with some billionaire whose family name **STARK** was cast in neon words on a corporate building he glimpsed on the roof. The picture of a man in a metal suit- identical to the poster on the wall- was in the article.

He searched for Tony Stark.

_“Anthony Edward "Tony" Stark, aka ‘Iron Man’ was a billionaire industrialist, a founding member of the Avengers, and the former CEO of Stark Industries. A brash but brilliant inventor, Stark was self-described as a genius, billionaire, playboy, and philanthropist. With his great wealth and exceptional technical knowledge, Stark was one of the world's most powerful men.”_

Tim blinked. Stark openly announced his identity to the world? He tried imagining the press conference if Brucie Wayne did the same. A literal Ken doll with a megawatt smile announcing his role as a brooding crime fighter who punched people’s teeth out at night.

It fried his brain a little. 

Stark was one the world’s most powerful men… and hopefully well meaning, considering he’s a hero. Perhaps the man will prove to be helpful when he’s trying to return home? Tim will remember to look into Stark Industries: massive companies meant money trails and resources and blackmail and stuff to hack, he’ll get a hold of more obscure information through that. 

**Low battery: 5% remaining**

Tim wiped the search history and removed himself from the screen. Stretching his sore wrists, he looked around for anything useful. (sorry Mr Peter Parker, I’m going to take a lot of your stuff, hope you don’t mind)

Trousers? Maybe? Something sharp?

He exchanged the horrible skinny jeans with slightly more comfortable shorts and picked up a pair of sneakers. A bit too big for him, but acceptable.

There weren't any stabby stabs around, but a sharpened pencil could serve as a painful distraction if he got jumped.

‘Gahhhh!’

Something dark moved past the window and slammed into a nearby wall with a high-pitched yelp.

Tim ducked into the corner of the room, melting into a pile of dirty laundry just in time to avoid a figure barrelling through the window in a blue-red skin tight suit. 

Did he break into a local vigilante’s place?

Tim stared in horror as the figure pulled off his mask. The figure had his back towards him, but Tim could see a mass of brown hair. Judging from the voice and stature, _he's_ the teenaged Peter Parker.

The teen sighed as he removed the mask, happy to get rid of his stuffy disguise. The smell of blood and sweat slowly engulfed the room. Tim glanced at the discarded mask, a crudely made thing with huge white lenses and a web pattern. 

Parker limped to the bed and hugged it tiredly, massaging his bruised shoulder. He was favouring his left side, and held tightly onto his thigh. Tim could see red seeping out from the teen's suit. 

Because Tim's self control throws itself out of the window when faced with utter stupidity, he instinctively leaned forward ,wanting to help. Then mentally slapped himself for his brashness . No one would take well to a masked stranger stepping out of the shadows of your apartment wearing your clothes, especially as an injured vigilante. However, his finger still twitched as he watched Parker fumble over the wound with blatantly no experience or efficiency. 

Tim groaned a little when Parker ran out of bandages and picked up a roll of as a tissue paper as replacement.Did he even know what's basic hygiene? 

He's going get himself killed someday.

Parker's head snapped up. 

He stared straight into Tim and stood up, approaching Tim's corner. Tim sunk a bit more into the shadows, pressing down his fastening pulse, and silenced his breathing. With a quick nerve strike and a blow to the head he might be able to keep the injured Parker off his trail. But he wasn’t sure if the boy had powers or heightened endurance, which meant if Tim couldn’t escape in the borrowed time it took for Parker to recover,he’s fucked.

Thankfully,Parker’s eyes glazed over him, and he turned back to tend to his wounds with a small ‘hhhrumph’.

Tim slunk along the dark to the open window and silently flung himself below the windowsill so Parker wouldn’t notice, and climbed back onto the roof. 

He couldn’t help but worry for Spider-boy downstairs.

The security was shit. Open windows, free-to-access laptop… he was hoping most vigilantes in this world would be more vigilant than _this._ The mask itself was so carelessly made it looked more like cosplay. An amateur with no training...

_Well that wasn’t his problem yet._

For now, he just needs a cup of warm black coffee with three extra shots of caffeine so he would feel less like roadkill.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. sexy corn

Tim is currently jumping between that _very_ thin line between vigilante and criminal.

He swiped another wallet from an unsuspecting subject.

Bruce wouldn't approve, but he was mostly a bastard with double standards (His fling with the Cat made pick-pocketing somewhat legal, but only for her.) Tim didn't really care about what Bruce thought when he's dimensions away from Gotham.

He turned the corner and examined another expensively dressed businessman. With his fingernails he quickly removed a hundred bucks from the man's back pocket.

Tim had stayed with Catmom for around a week when the adoption procedures were being dealt with. He picked up a lot of handy tricks during his time with her. Tim liked Selina. She wasn't judgemental or patronising, she was just a badass lady who liked stealing precious artifacts while spouting cat puns. He still goes to her place sometimes when he's frustrated with Bruce. There, they would rant about B's Bruce-ness and Selina would let him play with the dozens of cats she had stashed around. 

Ok, back to pick-pocketing.

It's been 7 hours since he woke up here. 5 of those hours were used for criminal activity. He had a dozen wallets stuffed inside his RR hoodie. (What's wrong with self promotion?)

After retreating to a shady backstreet, Tim counted his earnings. A couple thousand in total, enough for basic gear : a makeshift grappling gun, a small computer, some USB cables. Around a hundred would be left for him to get miscellaneous supplies or food or most importantly, **_caffeine_ **.

There's always a coffee shop nearby, because it's New York. And New York is filled with cynical caffeine-dependent bastards like himself.

Tim sniffed the air and followed the scent of roast coffee like a dog. It was a skill he polished and perfected for years. The trail led him to a Starbucks next to the police station. It was crowded, but only a single young barista was tending to the customers.

"Hello, how may I help you?" She smiled brightly, but Tim could see it in her eyes. They were empty and hateful and he knew she wanted to wrangle someone, someone who's hopefully not Tim. 

" Just an espresso."

The girl straightened in surprise.

"Just that? Not a half-caf/decaf peaberry nonfat latte, steamed to 145 degrees, not too much foam, light cinnamon, shot of butterscotch?" She asked, the smile becoming a little less forced.

"Yes."

"Oh god you're a blessing, I'm going to give you an extra shot. What's your name?"

"Thanks, it's Tim." He flashed a grin and put a 5 dollar tip in the jar.

The girl swooned - for the 5 bucks, not his blindingly good looks - and went to her job.

Meanwhile Tim sat cross-legged on his chair and for the first time in forever, felt like a _free man_.

Back home, his face was plastered across half the planet. Tim could look up from work and stare into his own glowing face printed on a huge billboard half a city away. 

As an act of disproportionate vengeance, Tam had chosen the one picture that made him look 14 and insisted it be made into a life-sized cut-out found at the entrance of every WE building ever. Tim Wayne was unfortunately, an A-list celebrity in Gotham, with an easily recognisable face which meant a private life was impossible.

But _here_ , there _weren't_ a dozen paparazzi stalking him or cameras 24/7. He _wasn't_ the heir of a big ass company.

He was just some kid trying to live life.

And so that meant he could leave home in his birthday suit, eat a taco sideways, wear crocs, and do everything that the rich white upper crust of Gotham would gasp about.

His heart cried a little in happiness.

The barista handed him his drink, and he gulped the elixir of life down, savouring the blood, sweat and tears that flowed into his asparagus. It was concentrated and bitter, but Tim felt his veins burning and vision focus. He felt like he could **fly**. With this, who needs cocaine?

"College?"

Tim looked up. The barista raised an eyebrow at him as she waited for an answer.

"Why?"

"Dark eyebags as if you got punched twice. Iconic. And the bloodshot eyes and sunken cheeks. You look about as done with life as me. Helps sell the 'college kid' vibe. It's midterms soon, and I assure you you're not the only one that dragged themselves here looking like they just dug out of their grave."

"Accurate enough." Tim lied. Misplaced vigilantes can also look like they climbed out from six feet under. (sorry Jason)

"I gave you five extra shots in that." The barista gestured at the empty cup. "Was hoping that'll get me fired sooner. But kudos, you downed it all. If you feel like puking later in the day, feel free to come back and fill a complaint."  
  


She was interrupted with a dying screech," eXcuSe mE"

"Yes?"

"I still haven't got my hot chocolate-"

"Please wait"

"I ha-have ve-ery low bl-ood sugar.."

Tim left the store as the Barista tended to the hot chocolate boy with very low blood sugar.

He dropped the handful of stolen wallets at the police station nextdoors.

At Starbucks, he had come up with a list of priorities:

  * Grapple gun
  * Documents
  * Computer



A secure computer would be easy to get his hands on. He'll pay a visit to the library in downtown Manhattan. Maybe hack into police files a bit and figure out who would be able to make him some documentation. Tonight he would go on a drug bust for some quick cash or help the police do their detective work.

Tim hated that he had no long term plan nor solution to his misplacement problem. He had too little information at hand, too big of a question mark. He's hoping the family has noticed his disappearance by now, but he had no idea if time was running parallel or not. For all he knew, 10 years could've passed in Gotham, and the Bats might never find him.

Or worse, he could be welcomed back by Ra's if everyone else was dead and he'd be forced to become some kind of honorary concubine to the devil's head. Tim felt his hair stand up in disgust.

  
  


In view of all the horrible possibilities,he'd need to come up with something as soon. Maybe infiltrate some high tech companies or go straight to the 'Avengers’ for help. That'll be the fastest way, sure, but he heard they were government funded, and he's not risking the chance of becoming a guinea pig for inter-dimensional research..

Sigh. There's no use worrying about something he couldn't control. For now, he'll deal with the more objective needs and think in bullet points. Literally.

Makeshift grappling gun?

  * Reinforced wire
  * Grapple
  * Gun



  
  
  
  


\-------

  
  
  


Jason squinted at the clusterfuck of code in front of him. 

Nope. He wasn't doing this.

Jason rolled over and reached for his phone.

"Babs, can you help me deal with the corporate files I sent you?"

It took a few minutes for her to respond.

"Sorry, busy on Dick's case. Ask Tim?"

Jason hesitated. Tim? Considering their history,he was surprisingly on good terms with Replacement. Tim was a refreshing presence. The kid never knew Jason before his resurrection, and hence he never had the expectant gaze Dick or Bruce had while talking with him. 

Tim didn't do that. Tim just snarks and snaps. Never expects more than he's given.

Tim… Tim was chill. He was a cynical little shit, sure, but maybe they could even become good friends if Jason didn't try putting sharp objects in him earlier.

Eh fuck it.

He scrolled to Tim's contact and called.

_beep_

_beep_

_beep_

_sorry, the numb-_

Jason ended the call.

It was Saturday. Replacement should be off WE duties. He didn't hear about anything fun happening on the kids turf yesterday, so he should be up and functioning.

Whatever, wasn't really his business. Dick or the others would check on him.

He needs to take a piss.

Jason turned the the bathroom and 

" Well fuck."

A hairy leg stuck out from his bathtub, the rest of the body concealed by the shower curtains.

Jason shot at the torso with a rubber bullet. A daily procedure.

The person in his bathtub jerked and let out a stream of curses.

"What the fuck, jay?" 

"Get the fuck out, you feral bitch."

Roy Harper massaged the spot where the bullet hit and sat up with a pout. Jason was met with a violent disgust at the sight.

"Can't you let a guy sleep in peace?"

"No."

Roy sighed and got out of the bathtub, completely naked.

"Oh my fucking god, wear your clothes. I really don't want to see that."

"I don't have any clothes."

Jason stared and wanted to retort, but remembered that words served no purpose against idiots, and left for his room to get Arsenal something to wear.

He returned with an oversized Wonder woman T shirt and Nightwing boxers.

Roy's shit eating grin met his kindness.

"You wear Nightwing boxers? Dickie would be over-excit-"

Jason put his finger on the trigger

" _Woah_ woah,okay I'll shut up."

Roy pulled on the clothes with no self-respect and jumped right over to the kitchen.

"Why do you have so much coffee stashed here?"

Jason’s domestic bother asked.

"Replacement and his inhuman diet."

Speaking of the replacement, Jason glanced at the computer. "Arse, come over and help me with this."

Roy stumbled over with his face stuffed with sugary cereals. Jason can see why the guy got along so well with Goldie.

"I don't have the brainpower to deal with this right now. Why don't you ask your local tech goddess?"

"She's busy."

" Babybird?"

"Which one?"

"The one that looks about as dead as you."

"He didn't connect."

Roy raised an eyebrow.

"I thought you bats were always online?"

Jason cracked an egg open and let it flow onto the frying pan. The way it whitened was fascinating.

"Well Replacement obviously isn't right now. So you're the one on the job."

Roy turned the fire up and giggled like a toddler as the egg sizzled and burnt. "Maybe you should check on him. It doesn't feel in character for Red Robin to not pick up."

Jason dismisses the man and kicks him in the shin as the egg is set on fire. He should never have let the feral bitch in the kitchen.

Timmy should be fine.

_Should._

When was the last time he saw Tim? He couldn't recall. Hell, even the little shit's obnoxious face was blurry in his memories.

He's checking on him. 

Jason dialed Dick's number.

"Jay! So glad you called? Did you miss me?"

Jason groaned.

"Don't make me regret this. Have you seen replacement recently? I know you visited the manor last week."

Dick sounded confused." Tim doesn't live in the manor."

Replacement didn't? He is what? 16? Was it even legal for him to live by himself?

Jason glanced at Roy. He looked equally confused.

Jason voiced his thoughts.

"Tim moved out soon after Bruce supposedly died and Damian became Robin. And he's 17 now. He got emancipated last year."

"Has anyone seen him in a week?"

The line went silent for a bit.

"A month?"

"No…" Dick sounded positively terrified," Babs said she hasn't contacted him in 3 weeks. Tim always goes to Babs for help or geek out about tech. Wait, I'm asking Damian."

There was rushed footsteps on the other end, and a frustratingly condescendingly childish voice perked up.

"Drake is presumably displaying his irresponsibility in San Francisco with the clone and their incompetent teammates."

"So no."

Dick returned to the call.

"I'm connecting the girls and Duke to this."

Various female voices erupted from the speaker.

" What's up with Tim?" Steph asked.

Duke seconded.

"Blondie, Cass, did you see him recently?"

Both said no.

Duke replied hesitantly. "Last saw him as RR during patrol on Tuesday."

"I'm hacking into the Titan's coms."

A new male voice joined the conversation.

"What's up?" Superboy asked.

"Is Red Robin with you?" Three voices simultaneously asked.

"Uh, no? Isn't he at his apartment?"

"Hacking through the firewall of Tim's CCTV. He put a ton of weird twists on his code, it's going to take some time."

"We shouldn't be fussing over Dra-"

"Shut up demon." Jason scowled. "Do none of you keep track of the Replacement? 

Dick spoke up, " He's really independent and great at what he does, so we kinda just let him do his work without interfering."

"Superboy, can you pay a visit to Tim's place? Dick, take a look at Red Robin's work log. Duke, check WE records. Cass, please help me call Bruce. I'm taking the tapes from WE and the Cave. Everyone, please tell me the last time you saw Tim."

Jason replied honestly, "I can't recall. More than three months, maybe."

He was surprised to hear that he wasn't the only one that hasn't contacted Tim in that long. 

Cass silently sent, ' no remember ' in the family group chat.

Meanwhile, Bruce joined the call.

"Cassandra informed me about the situation. I haven't seen Tim since last Friday. We bumped into each other at WE."

He and Duke were the only ones that saw Tim in a week.

"Tim's tracking signal vanished. I can't contact him." Babs sounded panicked. Jason could hear intense typing noises in the background

"He's not in his apartment. It's a freaking mess, his suit and utility belt is on the floor. He didn't even finish his coffee before leaving. I can't sense his heartbeat." Superboy was starting to panic.

"Bart and Cassie are at the Tower, both haven't seen Tim in …. 2 weeks."

"Tam hasn't seen Tim in around a week. But she was on holiday for most of it."

"Oh my god." Blondie murmured,"how did we not notice? Bruce, wasn't he still technically the CEO of WE? Wouldn't you check up on him or something? He has overlapping turf with me. I didn't even think twice when he didn't show up."

"Tim was always efficient, and he's good at his job. He'd wouldn't get into trouble without contacting us…" Bruce sounded very guilty.

"Guys." Babs shouted amongst the messy back and forth, " _guys_ . I'm looking through the apartment's security cam footage. He was sleeping on Thursday night and just- disappeared. Like just, _boom_ , he was gone."

The silence hung heavy after that.

"Either teleportation or magic. I'll contact Zatanna right away. Nightwing and Robin, check if there are any energy discrepancies on the night of Red Robin's disappearance. Communicate through the family group. Add Superboy. All members report at the Cave as soon as possible."

The line was cut.

Roy nudged Jason on the shoulder.

“Red's going to be fine. He's the family genius, right?"

Jason bit his nails in worry. "The family genius with absolutely no sense of self preservation. He doesn't even sleep until he passes out. His record was 7 days and 4 hours without sleep, and Alfred had to feed him as he stared at a screen. Kid lives on coffee. I don't think he can survive a week without someone shoving normal food in his face."

The expression on Roy's face looked a mix between flabbergasted and concerned.

"And he lives alone?"

"Alfred brings him meals sometimes. He wouldn't condone his grandsons living like that. He does that for me too, fills my fridge with healthy food when I'm out. Alfie is the best."

Jason crashed into the couch and just laid there. Roy jumped onto his thigh, dodging a punch.

"So…. Red Robin's missing."

"Humph."

Jason cushioned his head with Roy's bruised chest, right on the spot he shot. Jason was an asshole like that. He willfully ignored the other man's indignant cry.

" He's going to be fine." Jason insisted. He could hear the doubt in his own voice. "He's always been the one that's 'capable' and 'cool-headed' and some shit. Or at least I thought. Why'd he leave the manor? He's treasured there."

Roy pushed Jason off him. "It's not as if moping will do shit. Gear up. We're going bird hunting." 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ps: Roy is Jason's significant bother, not significant other. Their relationship is strictly platonic.
> 
> I will be puking content in the next few days I guess. Huh.

**Author's Note:**

> Written out of boredom blossoming into passion. Will be updated.


End file.
